The Queen of Sheba's Pearls
by Firebird9
Summary: Jack was hoping for a nice, quiet voyage back to Australia, but of course that wasn't going to happen.
1. Chapter 1

_I told Bellairian that I had a number of ideas for fics, including one aboard ship, and that I couldn't decide which one, if any, to write. She told me she'd read any of them, so here's my first (but possibly not my last) offering set post-Symphony. For those who haven't read Symphony, Jack did indeed follow Phryne to England. They got engaged, solved a murder, and eventually set sail for Australia._

 _..._

 _Notes on this fic: I've depicted life aboard a steam-ship as a first class passenger in the 1930s as accurately as I can, based on what I could google. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please let me know._

 _Update: I just rewatched 3.8 and finally realised that Phryne was wearing the swallow brooch when she left for England (in spite of it being mentioned in several fics written by more observant people). Blame it on a small telly and my limited observational skills. Now that I HAVE noticed it, I'm totally going back and editing it into 'Symphony'._

* * *

Seated on the floor of Jack's cabin, Phryne Fisher rifled systematically through the trunk of books her fiancé had brought with them from England. Hemingway, Sassoon, Graves, even Remarque: did Jack read such things in spite of his shellshock, she wondered, or because of it? Chesterton's _The Everlasting Man_ , as well as the first volume of Wells and Huxley's _The Science of Life_. Trust Jack to see both sides of an argument. Several volumes of poetry, including the latest by both Yeats and Sassoon. But none of Phryne's personal favourites, nothing by Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers, let alone D. H. Lawrence. Not even good old Conan Doyle had made it into Jack's travelling library. They had been at sea for just over a week, and she'd already read everything she'd brought with her.

She heard the key in the lock and looked up as Jack entered, fresh from the ship's gymnasium. The sheen of sweat on his skin and the slight curl to his usually-brylcreemed hair made her heart skip a beat. He stopped when he saw her and raised an eyebrow.

"Breaking and entering again, are we?" he teased. "I distinctly remember locking the door on my way out."

"Just entering, Jack," she corrected, glancing meaningfully towards the door connecting their two cabins. She smiled proudly. "I'm trying to keep my criminal activities to a minimum these days. Now that I'm going to be married to a Detective Inspector." She tumbled the books on her lap carelessly to the floor and rose to sashay towards him. He smelt wonderful as well, she thought, fresh masculine musk overlying his aftershave.

"I'll let you know if I notice the difference," he told her as she ran her hand down his chest. "Phryne," he protested half-heartedly, "I need a shower."

"I could help with that," she offered, making him chuckle.

"As tempting as the offer is, love, if we let ourselves get distracted we'll be later for supper. Again. And I for one am curious to see what the Queen of Sheba will be wearing tonight."

She pouted playfully, withdrawing her hand. "Well, if you're more interested in what she's wearing than in what I'm... not wearing-"

He laughed then, and kissed her soundly before releasing her abruptly and moving swiftly past her towards his bathroom before he could change his mind. "Just make sure you pick those books up before you leave," he scolded, shutting the door firmly between them. She poked her tongue out at it, then put all the books except the Hemingway and the Wells/Huxley back in their trunk. He hadn't said she couldn't borrow them, after all.

...

The Queen of Sheba was the name Jack had bestowed, in a whisper that had had Phryne helpless with silent laughter, upon the Hungarian countess Sofia Arnay the first time they had seen her being shown to her seat in the first-class dining-room. Countess Arnay was about Jack's age and might have been beautiful had she not been caked in makeup. Her clothing and jewellery were as expensive and elaborate as Phryne's but whereas Phryne looked effortlessly elegant in her satins, silks and furs the Countess merely managed to look garish. The problem, Phryne considered, was that the Countess was utterly ignorant of Coco Chanel's excellent advice on the subject of 'less is more'.

Tonight was indeed a classic example: the Countess was dressed in gold lamé topped with a fur dyed in an alarming shade of pink which was exceeded in brightness only by her lipstick, and dripping with diamonds. Almost every finger sparkled, as well as her necklace and earrings, and she greeted the arrival of Phryne and Jack with a shriek of excitement.

"Phryne, darling, what do you think?" She waved her fingers around as though she were playing an invisible piano, presumably in the style of Liszt. "A gift from a gentleman whose name I shall not mention for fear of scandal, but wealthy, very wealthy. Ah, to have such admirers." And she cast a sideways glance at Jack. He returned it with a direct but carefully neutral gaze of his own until she looked away, discomforted by his apparent lack of discomfort.

"Personally I've always been rather wary of men who feel the need to lavish extravagant gifts on a woman," Phryne responded archly. "I feel it rather implies that they have nothing else to offer. Or something to compensate for."

The Countess raked Phryne with an assessing look. She was wearing a dress of deep jade green which set off her eyes and subtly emphasised the sway of her hips when she moved, and apart from her engagement ring her jewellery consisted of a single long string of jet beads with a matching bangle and drop earrings, plus a black-and-green brooch in her hair. She looked, Jack thought, like a fashion plate standing beside a child who had played dress-up with an indiscriminate selection of her mother's clothing, makeup and accessories.

The Captain chose that moment to enter, sending them all to their seats. Jack pulled out Phryne's chair, brushing her arms with his fingers as he pushed it in before taking his place alongside her.

"Compensating, Miss Fisher?" he asked in a voice low enough to be covered by the general chatter and clatter which accompanied the serving of the first course.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "For their behaviour, usually," she clarified. "That was always Father's strategy, anyway."

"But he never quite managed to make up for pawning that brooch?" He smiled tenderly at her. "I've never forgotten seeing it pinned to your scarf the day you left."

"Never," Phryne responded firmly, then sighed, her expression softening. "I don't think I took it off until I could lock it away in my jewellery box in England" she paused briefly. "Silly of my to be superstitious, I suppose, but I was travelling with my father, and I remember feeling utterly convinced that if I set it down, even for a moment, I'd somehow lose it. I even slept with it under my pillow. It was a promise: a promise I'd come home, just like a swallow returning to her nest. And to you as well."

She was not usually so sentimental, Jack thought, as he covered his reaction to her words and gave her a moment to compose herself by accepting and tasting wine and soup. But Phryne's worldliness seemed at times almost to become an odd form of naiveté. When it came to close relationships with men she was accustomed to only two things: domineering, violent behaviour; or men who were interested only in having fun and didn't much care about anything else, including her. Things which Rosie had simply assumed about him – that he would take care of her, that he would be faithful to her, that he would never strike or otherwise harm her, that she could trust him – Phryne had come to understand only slowly, over time. And there were still times when he caught a look of wonder or surprise in her eyes over some trivial forgiveness or small gesture of understanding or affection on his part that made him wonder what on Earth she had been expecting in that moment... and not certain he wanted to know.

...

Jack always prepared for bed in his own cabin, and Phryne in hers. She considered it unnecessary but she knew, as the young maid hung her dress and gathered clothing to be laundered before leaving her to her ablutions, that Jack would be changing into his pyjamas and pulling back the covers of his bed, conscientiously lying down, pulling up the sheets and tossing and turning for a few minutes until it bore at least the impression of having been occupied for the night. Only then, with appearances safely maintained, would he don his dressing gown and slippers and slip through the connecting door into her cabin. Sure enough, she heard him enter behind her as she was brushing her hair.

He shook his head fondly at the sight of Phryne with her head bent forward and her slick bob turned to disarray as she assiduously counted off brush-strokes. Twenty-five from back to front with her head almost touching her knees, then twenty-five front to tips, still with her head forward, then up and a shake before another twenty strokes returned her hair to its customary neatness. She claimed that it was a French beauty trick taught to her by Veronique which shook out the dust and relaxed the strands, improving the lustre and health of the hair. He was not one to argue with a woman over her beauty regime, no matter how outlandish. He was just thankful that she didn't indulge in Rosie's regular habit of slathering her face in a thick layer of cold cream before retiring for the night. Phryne claimed that only over-burdened the skin, potentially leaving it in worse condition, not better, and that it was better to apply a much thinner layer of lotion with swift upward strokes, to counter the effects of gravity. Again, he considered it wisest not to argue.

"Do you remember we're speaking with the Chaplain tomorrow?" he asked, as he slipped into bed and lifted the covers so that she could slide in alongside him.

"Of course." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You remember what we agreed about vows of obedience, don't you?"

He sighed. "Phryne, even if you hadn't made that stipulation, I would consider it pointless to ask you to make a promise that you would inevitably feel compelled to break almost immediately."

She smiled and kissed him. "Good. Just so long as we both know where we stand."

...

There were few duties aboard ship, Chaplain Colin Walters thought, that were more pleasant than conducting a wedding. True, baptisms accompanied the joy of birth, but babies were unpredictable creatures, prone to crying or, worse, vomiting without warning and without remedy. Celebrating the Lord's Supper was always a privilege, hearing confessions ranged from the boring to the amusing to the outright terrifying, and nothing would ever make conducting a funeral enjoyable. But a wedding, now that was something to be savoured.

The couple who sat before him were older than many that he had wed, but younger than others. They held hands but did not giggle. They had a closed, assessing look that he recognised: they were not religious, and had Views on certain aspects of the various traditional wedding services. That was fine. He'd rather compromise on a few nonessentials to see a couple formally bound and blessed as man and wife than leave them living in sin (and he'd heard enough shipboard confessions to know just how inventive some of those sins could be – what was it about life aboard ship, he wondered, that lowered people's inhibitions so thoroughly?).

"So," he began. "You want to be married?"

The pair nodded. "That's right," the Inspector affirmed.

"Well then, let's begin. Do you know of any reason in law – and we are subject to British law aboard this ship – which would prevent you from being legally wed? You are both of age? Unmarried?"

The two exchanged a look. "I'm divorced," the Inspector stated briefly, with a slightly challenging tilt to his jaw.

Colin nodded. Irregularities were not unknown in the world of shipboard marriages, and at least they were being honest about it. "An impediment if you are seeking a religious ceremony," he acknowledged. "But as a ship's chaplain I am authorised to conduct a registry service, and in the eyes of the law a divorce is no impediment to that. Would that be acceptable to you both?"

Jack glanced anxiously at Phryne, but she was smiling and seemed, if anything, pleased. "That would be absolutely fine."

"In that case, I take it you do have proof of your divorce?"

The Inspector nodded again. "I do."

"Then there should be no problem." He raised an eyebrow and couldn't help but add, "you do realise that you could simply have omitted to mention it, and I would have been none the wiser?"

"I hope you're not implying that I should be marrying a man who is less than honest?" Miss Fisher remarked. Her tone was light, but not without bite. Yes, this one definitely had Views.

The chaplain inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Of course not. And you are both aware that marriage is a solemn estate, not to be entered into lightly?"

"Of course." He got the impression that Miss Fisher was becoming impatient.

"Well, in that case I'll need to see your passports and proof of the Inspector's divorce. Then I can notify the captain and publish the banns."

"Excellent," Miss Fisher now sounded pleased as she produced her passport from her handbag. The Inspector removed his passport and a folded document from his breast pocket, and they both slid their paperwork across the desk. The chaplain examined them and carefully copied the relevant details onto the form in front of him, then slid them back.

"Thank you. Now, at this stage, that's all-"

"We do have one request," the Inspector broke in, "regarding the vows. We would prefer that Miss Fisher not be required to swear any vows of obedience."

Miss Fisher's smile indicated that she was in complete agreement with her fiancé on that point, and Colin nodded. Ah yes, Views.

"The civil ceremony is short, and easily adapted. That won't be a problem."

"In that case," Phryne smiled at Jack, "perhaps we can make some time to go ring-shopping in Port Said."

Jack smiled back, and there was something in the look that was passing between the two that made Colin blink. He'd had this conversation with a lot of couples in his time but seldom had he seen the kind of love that was contained in that brief exchange. "That sounds like an excellent idea," the Inspector replied. Rising, he nodded to the chaplain and offered his hand to his fiancée, who rose elegantly beside him. "Chaplain."

Colin nodded back. "Inspector, Miss Fisher. I wish you all the very best."


	2. Chapter 2

_My apologies for the delay in posting this: my laptop died completely a few days ago and I've only just acquired a replacement and salvaged my files. Many thanks to the people who have already taken the time to review this fic._

* * *

Port Said had what could only be described as a thriving bazaar, unsurprising in a place that had a huge captive market in the form of passengers and crew all waiting their turn to make the transit through the Suez Canal. It didn't take Phryne and Jack long to find a jeweller who appeared at least reasonably honest, or for Phryne to choose a surprisingly plain gold band.

"I want something I can wear anywhere, with anything," she explained, when Jack asked her whether she was absolutely certain that this ring was the one she wanted.

"An excellent choice," the merchant said at once. "Of course you want something classic, elegant. Something that you will never need to take off. And for you, sir," he went on immediately, with the practised ease of a salesman who sees the opportunity to double his profit. "Perhaps I can interest you in a ring also? Very romantic, all the fashion for a gentleman to have a token of his wife's affection."

Jack was not the sort of man to be swayed by the blatant tactics of a merchant, but the man had struck a chord. Wedding rings had not been the fashion for men back when he married Rosie, and they couldn't have afforded one anyway. He had never worn jewellery in his life, but the thought of having a token of Phryne's 'affection' to carry with him, always, even when he was working, was appealing. After all, theirs was a partnership of equals, so why shouldn't he, as well as she, display a visible symbol of that partnership? He nodded decisively and the merchant smoothly slid the tray of women's rings away, replacing it with a selection of larger bands sized for a man.

"Plain, again," he instructed, and the merchant nodded and selected a thick band in the same bright gold as Phryne's. Jack slipped it onto his finger and held his hand out for inspection, feeling a little foolish. "What do you think?" he asked Phryne.

"Hmmm," she regarded his hand for a moment. "Well, I like the style, but," she slipped her fingers over his and tested, "yes, this one's a little loose. Do you have a slightly smaller one in the same style?"

"Of course," the merchant nodded again, holding out his hand for Jack to return the ring. The next one he tried fit snugly and he flexed his fingers, wondering how long it would take to become accustomed to the sensation. He looked at Phryne and nodded.

"We'll take them both," he said.

"With, of course, a discount, as we're buying two," Phryne, who had more experience in dealing with this kind of establishment, cut in.

"Of course, lady," the merchant nodded eagerly. The happy workings of international commerce meant that even with a 'discount' he could get a good price and the customers could go away feeling that they had got a bargain. In such ways did Allah please both the faithful and the infidel.

...

Jack would have been quite happy to leave it there, but Phryne was determined to give the bazaar a thorough going-over, and by the end of their trip they were somehow the proud owners of two rugs, three admittedly exquisite lady's scarves, several small artefacts of dubious provenance but undoubted interest and beauty, and a hastily-printed black and white photograph of the two of them, him holding a parrot and her a monkey while a chained cheetah lounged at their feet. He was rather relieved that the following day promised nothing more taxing than several hours' camel ride to visit the pyramids.

They returned to the Europa in time to change for dinner, only to find that their usual table companions, a studious young man on his way out to Ceylon to manage the family's tea estate and an older couple emigrating – at his expense – to join a son who had done very well indeed in the Australian import/export business, were spending the night ashore and the seating in the dining room had thus been reassigned.

"Now, darling, have I shown you these pearls?" Countess Arnay asked Phryne, when they were barely seated. She was draped in what seemed to be a rope of them, multiple strands criss-crossing her bosom.

"No, I don't believe you have," Phryne, who was wearing a single short strand of perfectly-matched pink pearls, replied.

"Such beautiful things, from the exotic islands of the Pacific," she sighed. "Incredible, no, that such treasure can be made from filth?"

"I've always thought so," Phryne agreed, growing bored with the woman's seemingly endless bragging. She turned to Jack, desperate to find something more interesting to talk about. "Do you remember that case we worked on back in Melbourne? The woman who was strangled with her own pearls?"

The Countess gasped, and Phryne realised she had given offense. Still, the only stab of regret she felt was that it had been unintentional, not deliberate.

"I remember quoting Mark Antony to you," Jack responded with his usual diplomacy. "Perhaps, Countess, you are familiar with Shakespeare's play? Antony and Cleopatra?"

To his surprise, this seemed to be a successful sally, and the woman regarded him with honest interest rather than disdain for the first time in their voyage. "You are a lover of Shakespeare?" she asked.

"I'm rather partial," he admitted. "Although I haven't actually seen as many of his plays performed as I would like."

"And what is your favourite?"

He frowned slightly, considering. "It rather depends what I'm in the mood for. But if I had to pick, I'd say 'The Merchant of Venice'."

"'How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!  
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music  
Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night  
Become the touches of sweet harmony.'" Phryne quoted at once, and the Countess glanced away from the look which passed between the two of them.

"Have I ever told you that you rather remind me of Portia?" Jack remarked to his fiancée.

"I've always rather liked her," Phryne replied. "But you, you're a true Mark Antony."

"Ah, but you will marry your Portia, and thus you are indeed a Bassanio," the Countess added. Phryne narrowed her eyes, suspecting a barb in the words, but Sofia only smiled blandly and sipped her wine. Apparently that comment was revenge for the mention of strangulation.

"Those pearls really are lovely." Phryne gave up, deciding that letting the woman have her way was better than giving her the opportunity to throw further veiled insults at Jack. Bassanio's ship had come in in the end, but that wasn't the point and they all knew it.

...

"You know," Jack remarked, as he slid into bed next to Phryne that night, "the Countess's jewellery tonight reminded me of a game from my youth."

"Oh?" Phryne rolled towards him. "And what game might that be?"

"The Queen of Sheba's Pearls," he responded, giving her a look that bordered on the outright lascivious.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why, Jack Robinson, whatever would your grandparents have said if they'd found out that you'd been playing a game like that?"

He chuckled, low and sensuous. "Believe me, Miss Fisher, I made very, very sure that they didn't find out."

"Well, we can hardly play tonight," she pouted. "There's just the two of us."

"Oh," Jack replied, "I think you'll find that we can get a very enjoyable game going with just the two of us to play."

She arched her back, stretching her arms above her head. "Well then, Inspector, you'd better start searching me. There's no telling where I might have concealed those pearls."

...

It took them a week to pass through the Suez Canal, watching the Egyptian landscape slip slowly by and sailing close enough to other ships making the same journey that they could wave, and sometimes even shout across, to the people on their decks. In spite of this diversion, after three weeks at sea they were both growing bored.

"So, this is the life of the idle rich," Jack commented one day as they played yet another game of draughts in the elegantly-appointed first-class lounge. A steward was passing by with tea, another was tidying up after recently-departed guests, and a third was dancing attendance on the Countess, who seemed to demand an audience at every possible moment.

Phryne gave a sympathetic smile at the faintly plaintive note in his voice. "Only another month or so to go, Jack, and you'll be back to hunting down criminals and shooing me off your desk."

He looked around at his fellow passengers, all of whom (apart from the querulous Countess) appeared perfectly content with their situation, and gave Phryne a slight, puzzled frown. "How do they stand it?"

"Well, most of them have been raised to believe that it's the natural order of things: they spend their time doing as little as possible, and nothing at all that they don't feel like doing, and everyone else dances attendance on them. Heaven forbid that you should ask them to do an honest day's work. And the rest of them have worked – or schemed, or seduced – their way into this kind of life quite deliberately and are perfectly happy to sit back and enjoy their fruits of their labours."

"And what about you?" Jack asked, and Phryne laughed lightly.

"I'm bored rigid, as it happens. Count yourself lucky that you're here to distract me, or heaven knows what I'd be up to by now."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that, well able to imagine the kind of trouble Phryne might be causing without what he was well aware was the restraining influence of his presence. No eligible male would be safe, for a start. Suddenly feeling the need for action, he took three of her pieces in one fell swoop, leaving her last few men at his mercy and effectively ending the game. She gave him an indignant look, but he rose and offered his hand. "Let's go for a swim," he suggested.

...

Aden was a bustling port at the heart of the British shipping empire, the streets lined with Colonial buildings and thronged with people of a dozen different ethnicities and what seemed to be a hundred languages. Jews, Arabs, Africans, Indians, some in their native dress and others in Western attire, rubbed shoulders with the British administrators in apparent harmony, although neither Jack nor Phryne were fooled. Occasional reports in the newspapers in both Australia and England meant that they were both aware of the ethnic tensions and impatience with British rule which sometimes flared into violence, even before they saw soldiers from the local garrison standing here and there on the street corners and patrolling with deceptive casualness through the markets. Today, however, things were peaceful.

"More souvenirs, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked, as she dragged him towards a jeweller's.

"Of course," she responded. "Honestly, Jack, how often are we going to have the opportunity to visit these places?" She held two different earrings up and turned her head from side to side, examining her reflection in a mirror. "What do you think?"

"Uh..." He glanced around for inspiration. "The sapphire ones might match that necklace," he suggested, pointing, and she smiled, pleased, as the jeweller obligingly fetched it. She inflicted half a dozen more shops on him before taking pity and guiding them to a cafe selling an impressive selection of teas.

...

Evidently, the Queen of Sheba had also graced the jewellers with her presence, and Jack couldn't help but wonder whether she had left anything for their other customers as she swept into the dining room that night glittering with even more jewellery than he had seen her wear on any previous occasion.

"Such reasonable prices darling, and so pretty: how could I refuse?" they heard her remark to the young American movie star travelling with her much older director husband.

"Quite easily," Phryne muttered sotto voce to Jack. "At this rate she'll sink the whole ship before we reach Freemantle."

He choked with laughter on his wine. "Phryne!" he hissed reprovingly.

...

They sailed from Port Aden in the small hours of the morning. Two days later the ship's Master at Arms sent for Jack. The Countess Arnay's cabin had been burgled: every single item of jewellery except for those she had been wearing at the time had been stolen.


	3. Chapter 3

Captain John Buddal's private office was a small room connected to his cabin. By the time a worried-looking steward showed Jack in it was already crowded with the Captain, the Master at Arms, and the Chief Steward.

"Inspector, thank goodness," the captain began.

"Captain Buddal," Jack replied. "May I ask what this is regarding?"

"We've had a burglary," the Master at Arms explained, before realising that he hadn't introduced himself. "Master Andrew Rudd," he added. "As the ship's Master At Arms it's my responsibility to resolve the situation, if possible."

"And what exactly is 'the situation'?"

Captain Buddal gestured to the Chief Steward. "Stephen Thomas, Chief Steward," Thomas took up the narrative. "Countess Arnay approached me about an hour ago. She had gone to the lounge to read, and when she returned to her cabin the door was ajar and all her jewellery was missing. She sent her maid to fetch me, and I sent for Master Rudd. He examined the cabin, then we came straight here to report to the Captain."

"According to the passenger list you're a police inspector?" Rudd broke in.

Jack nodded. "I am. With the Victorian Constabulary in Australia."

"I'd appreciate your help, sir. I know it's not really your problem, but the Countess is a very influential woman. If we can't locate her jewels then I shudder to think what might happen to our reputation."

"And we're due in Ceylon in a few days," Jack added. "If you haven't found them by then there's a good chance they'll be smuggled ashore and sold, and you'll never get them back. Who else know about this?"

"Apart from ourselves, just the Countess and her maid," Thomas replied. "I asked them both to return to the lounge and act as though nothing had happened. That may buy us a little time, and I don't want to alarm the other passengers."

Jack nodded. "Very wise. I'd appreciate it if you'd send someone to fetch Miss Fisher." At their curious looks he clarified. "My fiancée is a private detective. Her assistance could be invaluable, and frankly, gentlemen, as soon as she realises that I'm investigating a case she'll involve herself anyway, so you might just as well include her from the beginning."

"Of course," Captain Buddal agreed. "Mr. Thomas, if you'd be so good as to fetch Miss Fisher here."

It took Thomas only a few minutes to return with Phryne, and barely longer for Jack to brief her on the case.

"Well," she began. "Assuming that no-one from second class or steerage has managed to gain access to the first class decks then it has to be a first class passenger or a member of the crew. So we need to know which crew members have been on duty in first class today."

"That will be easy enough," Thomas assured her. "I have a copy of the duty roster with me."

"How many men do you have?" Jack asked Rudd.

"Only two, but I can draft other crew-members as needed."

"Then I would suggest that you assemble a group whom you consider trustworthy. Mr. Thomas, if you'd be so good as to have all the first-class passengers assemble in the lounge it might be best if the Captain explains the situation to them and asks whether anyone has any objection to their cabins being searched. Keep a few stewards on hand to serve drinks, but I'd advise sending as many crew as possible back to their quarters – once Master Rudd's men have had a chance to search them."

After a great deal of grumbling and half a day of turning the crew's quarters and the entire first class upside down, not a single one of the Countess's jewels had been located. Rudd, assisted by Jack and Phryne, moved from searching cabins to people, but no-one had any jewellery on their person for which they could not account. By dinnertime everyone, passengers and crew, was thoroughly out of sorts.

"I don't know what to do next," the captain admitted to Phryne and Jack as they ate at his table. "It's possible whoever took them has concealed them in another part of the ship. If we have to search steerage..." he trailed off with a worried expression.

"There could be problems?" Jack asked.

Buddal gave a brief, mirthless, snort. "I have half again as many young, single men as usual on board, all of them broke and desperate to start a new life. It wouldn't surprise me if one of them – or a group – had found a way to rob a first class passenger. And it wouldn't surprise me if the whole bloody lot rioted before they allowed us to search their quarters."

Phryne frowned at her plate. "What I don't understand is, why only the Countess? I mean, her jewellery is exquisite, and she has plenty of it, but my own jewellery box is hardly empty, and you could say the same about every woman in this room. Why target her and leave the rest of us alone?"

"Hers was the only unattended cabin?" Jack suggested.

Phryne shook her head. "No, if you're going to pick a lock, especially in broad daylight, you wait until the coast is clear. And once you're in, why not pick the lock on the door to the neighbouring cabin as well? I checked the passenger lists: that cabin is occupied by the Messingers. Very wealthy couple, and her jewellery has to be worth almost as much as the Countess's. And picking the lock to the adjoining cabin means you have an escape route if you're interrupted." The Captain was looking shocked, Jack noticed, and cleared his throat meaningfully. Phryne caught the hint and smiled brightly. "Or so I would imagine."

"As I said," Jack added, "My fiancée is a private detective, and a very good one. She's right: something about this case just doesn't add up."

...

"But what?" Phryne frowned as she handed Jack a whisky back in her cabin. "She's been bragging about her jewellery almost since she boarded: it's almost as if she wanted someone to steal it."

"But why?" Jack responded, a frown furrowing his own brow as he accepted and sipped his drink.

"Insurance, perhaps?" Phryne suggested.

He shook his head. "If it were paste, maybe, and the valuation certificates stated that it was genuine. But nothing she wore was paste, Phryne, not a thing."

She nodded to show she agreed. "But there's something not right about this case, Jack." She was silent for a moment, then caught his eye with a resolute gaze. "I want to search her cabin." Jack opened his mouth to protest and she cut him off. "Not right now, not with her asleep inside. I want to ask Rudd for permission to search it tomorrow. After all, it's the only place in first class that _hasn't_ been searched."

Jack tilted his head. "You think the jewels are still in there?"

"Not necessarily, but we might find something that tells us more about the Countess Sofia Arnay."

"And if they are still there, that might explain why the other cabins were untouched," Jack added, thinking. "If the thief were a member of the crew, and had prepared a place to conceal the jewellery beforehand, then he or she could simply move it to the hiding place, confident that the victim's cabin is the one place where no-one would look."

"And then retrieve it a few days later when all the fuss has died down and put it somewhere that's already been searched until he can sell it at the next port." She straightened suddenly, as a worrying thought occurred to her. "Jack, where are the wedding rings?"

He smiled reassuringly and patted his breast pocket. "Right here. I've been carrying them with me since we found out about the burglary. Don't worry, Phryne: I'm not going to let anyone ruin our wedding."

She smiled and settled into his arms. "Good."

They were silent for a moment, before Jack kissed the side of her head. "Phryne?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you- you are certain about this, aren't you? About getting married?"

She sat back up slowly and turned to him, frowning in concern. "Of course I am, Jack; why do you ask?"

He sighed. "I just... nerves, I suppose. And having to have a registry wedding because I'm divorced rather brings home the fact that I've done this once before, and failed." He searched her face for understanding. "Marriage isn't easy, Phryne."

She set her whisky aside and took his hands. "Nothing worth doing ever is, Jack. And both sides have to be willing to make the effort. From what I saw, Rosie gave up long before you did."

He looked down, ashamed. "Is it bad that I still think about her sometimes?"

"Of course not!" Phryne cupped his cheek. "You were married to her for sixteen years: I can't ask you to forget that, or to pretend that it never happened." A sudden anxious thought occurred. "As long as you're not expecting me to be just like her."

"Never!" He looked up and caught her gaze firmly with his. "I may think about her sometimes, but that doesn't mean I wish I was still married to her." He made a face. "Anything but. I love you, Phryne, you alone. Even if you do break into my cabin and steal my books."

Her expression turned to one of mock outrage. "I do not 'break in', nor do I steal. I only borrow. And anyway-"

He smothered her protests with a kiss until she forgot what she was saying and melted into him. "Just as long as you're sure," he murmured, when she had almost forgotten what it was that he wanted her to be sure about.

...


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't understand," Master Rudd said the next day, looking in puzzlement from one detective to the other. "The Countess is the victim: what's the point of searching her cabin?"

"If the thief is a member of the crew, it's possible he may have concealed the jewellery in the cabin, intending to retrieve it when all the fuss has died down," Jack replied, deciding for the moment not to mention Phryne's other suspicions.

"We just need you to keep her out of the way while we do it," Phryne added. "Perhaps you could have her give you a detailed description of the missing jewellery."

The Master at Arms thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It beats searching steerage. Alright, I'll take her down to the Captain's office after breakfast."

Thus it was that Phryne and Jack unlocked Countess Sofia Arnay's cabin not with Phryne's ivory-handled lock-pick (which she had described with wide-eyed innocence as a 'needle-working tool' when the Master at Arms found it among her effects, in spite of the fact that apart from an emergency repair kit she had no other needle-working supplies in her cabin), but with a master-key supplied by Mr. Thomas. Together they began systematically searching the cabin.

"Anything?" Phryne called to Jack, who was searching the bathroom.

"Nothing so far. You?"

She closed the last drawer. "Nothing so far." She moved on to the suitcases, Jack joining her when she was part-way through.

"The bathroom's clean," he told her. "I even had a quick poke around in her jar of cold cream – I found a stolen diamond ring that way back when I was a constable – but nothing."

"These cases..." Phryne began, but then trailed off as something in the base of the one she'd just emptied caught her attention. Carefully, she felt around, and lifted out a false bottom. "Oh!"

"Did you find them?" Jack craned to see.

"No," she replied, holding up her discovery. "But I may have stumbled across something much more interesting."

"Passports?"

Phryne opened each one and examined it, then laid them out on the bed. "Ilse Preiss, Germany. Amy Abbott, England. Mrs. Emily Rose, also England. Elena Tamas, Hungary. Different dates, different ages, but they're all the same woman."

Jack flicked through them, amazed. "Even assuming one of these is genuine, including Countess Arnay that's four aliases." Suddenly energised, he tossed the passport he was holding back on the bed. "Keep searching: that jewellery is definitely in here. And put any other documents on the bed, no matter how trivial they seem: whoever she really is, Miss Arnay has gone to a lot of trouble to create these aliases, and there's bound to be a reason."

In the end it was a feather that gave it away. One tiny feather, which Jack spotted snagged on the window-frame. It was enough to make him examine the pillows on the bed more closely. Two of them had been cut open and most of their feathers poured out. The resulting voids had been filled with two bags, each wrapped in a towel and containing an impressive array of jewels.

"Well, how do you like that?" Jack asked as he held up a familiar necklace. "It looks like I've found the Queen of Sheba's pearls after all."

...

Between them they carried the bags of jewellery, the passports, and various other interesting documents down to the Captain's cabin, where they laid them on the table in front of the 'Countess' and the Master at Arms. Master Rudd was speechless. The 'Countess' went very white and folded her arms, pressing her lips together.

"Can you account for these passports?" Jack asked, to be greeted with silence.

"What about the fact that we found your 'stolen' jewellery stuffed inside your pillows?" Phryne tried.

"How about telling us your real name?" Jack attempted.

The woman looked at him disdainfully. "My name is Countess Sofia Arnay, and you have no way of proving otherwise."

"You're right," Jack told her, "we can't. But in a couple of days we'll be docking in Ceylon: I'm sure the police there will be able to put the pieces together. Eventually."

When the 'Countess' didn't speak again, Phryne turned to Master Rudd. "What will happen to her in the meantime?"

Rudd hesitated, plainly reluctant to consign a lady to the ship's brig. "She'll be confined to her cabin under guard," he replied at last. "I'll need statements from both of you, and the evidence will be deposited in the ship's safe until we reach Colombo. And my thanks to you both: I couldn't have solved this case without you."

They smiled, pleased with a job well done. "Happy to help," Jack replied.

...

"We're supposed to be getting married tomorrow," Phryne remarked as they watched the Master at Arms and one of his lieutenants escort his prisoner to her cabin.

"Do you want to postpone it?" Jack asked.

She thought for a moment. "No. No, I don't."

...

Thus it was that at ten o'clock the next morning Phryne found herself alone in her cabin dressing for her wedding. She was supposed to be nervous, she thought, as she examined her reflection in the mirror and fastened the pearl necklace which not only perfectly complemented her dress of pale pink silk (a compromise between the virginal white to which she could hardly consider herself entitled and the deep scarlet in which some no doubt thought she should be clothed) but also seemed, somehow, amusingly appropriate . Yes, she thought, she really should be nervous. Granted, the wedding night was hardly a cause for concern in her case, but even so her life was about to change forever. And yet she wasn't nervous in the least. She was... excited, she thought, and a little impatient. After all, she and Jack had in effect been living – very happily – as husband and wife for months. Today was really little more than a formality, a concession to the demands of law and the expectations of society. And, she had to admit, an opportunity to do what she had never thought she would ever want to do and pledge herself to the man she loved for the rest of her natural life.

Meanwhile, in his cabin, Jack was knotting his tie and glancing anxiously at the whisky decanter. He really could do with a drink, he thought, to steady his nerves. He didn't remember feeling anywhere near this nervous the day he had married Rosie, but he had been a mere callow youth back then, with no idea of the hardships, twists and turns that lay ahead. He had assumed that once he was married that would be it, everything sorted and settled for life. This time he was not so foolish. He had no idea what the future held, and so he was nervous. He shifted his gaze from the decanter to the ridiculous picture of him and Phryne in Port Said, and smiled. When all was said and done they'd been living as husband and wife for months now, and that seemed to have gone perfectly well. And Phryne had made it quite clear that this was what she wanted. What had that ridiculous 'clairvoyant' said back in St. Kilda? That he shouldn't be afraid to pursue the desires of his heart? Something like that, at least. And his heart belonged, absolutely and without question, to Phryne Fisher. Resolutely he turned his back on the decanter and went to knock on the door of his fiancée's cabin.

Phryne heard the knock, and smiled. Jack, she had realised in the last few days, was actually far more nervous about this than she was, no doubt due to how his previous marriage had ended. Well, she thought, he needed to understand that he wasn't getting rid of her that easily. She opened the door and turned the full force of her smile upon him, glad to see him smile back in response.

"Ready to go?" he asked, offering his arm.

"Absolutely," she replied.

This was what they had agreed, what they had wanted: to walk to their wedding together as equal participants rather than have him standing on tenterhooks while some other man (and goodness knew who, since her father was falling further behind with every passing mile) gave her away like an unwanted puppy.

They could not be married in the chapel. They could not have any scripture readings or prayers. They did not even have a huge party of guests to witness their vows. But they did have a spacious, sunny parlour which had been reserved for the morning, decorated with flowers somehow kept alive and in full bloom since Port Aden. They had Reverend Walters to solemnise their vows, and Captain Buddal and their dinner companions, young Robert Slade and Mr. and Mrs. Holdaway, as friends and witnesses. As they reached the doorway the ship's string quartet struck up an excerpt from Pachelbel's Canon and as the others stood they walked together down the short aisle created by the rearrangement of the furniture to stand before Rev. Walters. The music died away and their witnesses sat.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Walters began, "we have come together today to solemnise the union of this man and this woman in matrimony. Does anyone here present know of any reason in law why this marriage should not take place?" There was a brief pause in which no-one spoke before he gave the couple a small, encouraging smile and continued. "In that case, Inspector Robinson, I shall invite you to give your formal declaration."

Jack smiled nervously. It had been years since his youthful acting forays, and for all he could still quote Shakespeare (and, yes, sing the odd G&S patter song, because Phryne was right when she said that you never did forget those), he had never been more nervous of forgetting a line. "I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful reason why I, John Harold Robinson, may not be joined in marriage to Phryne Anne Fisher."

Walters nodded acknowledgement and then turned to Phryne. "And Miss Fisher?"

She felt her heart flutter suddenly in her chest, a brief, irrational surge of panic and the utter conviction that she Could Not Do This. She glanced up at Jack, who gave her a concerned look, and drew a deep breath. She was the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, soon to be the Honourable Mrs. Phryne Robinson, and she could do anything she damn well wanted. In a voice that was as steady and as calm as it had ever been, she too made her declaration. "I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful reason why I, Phryne Anne Fisher, may not be joined in marriage to John Harold Robinson."

She couldn't help but glance up at Jack again, a little proudly this time – _See? I told you I could do it!_ – and he caught her eye and smiled back – _See? Together, we can do anything._

"The couple have now asked if they could each say a few words," Walters went on, and nodded again to Jack.

He smiled and took a deep breath, turning to Phryne and taking her hands in his. What else but Twelfth Night could do justice to his feelings?  
"I could not stay behind you. My desire,  
More sharp than filèd steel, did spur me forth;  
And not all love to see you, though so much  
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,  
But jealousy what might befall your travel,  
Being skill-less in these parts, which to a stranger,  
Unguided and unfriended, often prove  
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,  
The rather by these arguments of fear  
Set forth in your pursuit."

Phryne smiled back at him, recalling the context of those words: Antonio to Sebastian. Not lovers, but friends. And what else had love been to her before Jack but a foreign land in which she was indeed an unskilled stranger? Then it was her turn.  
"The minute I heard my first love story,  
I started looking for you, not knowing  
how blind that was.  
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.  
They're in each other all along."  
How true that had been. She had wanted, needed, love all her life, and yet had feared it as well because too often it had seemed to come at far too steep a price. And then there had been Jack, who had somehow snuck into her heart and become a part of her before she even suspected he was there.

Walters was smiling and, though they couldn't see it, behind them their guests were smiling too. Jack wondered whether the chaplain knew just who Phryne was quoting, and whether he was familiar with some of Rumi's more earthy works. "We have come to the time of the contracting words, which will formally bind Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher in marriage. Again, Inspector, I will invite you to speak first."

Jack spoke slowly and clearly. "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, John Harold Robinson, do take thee, Phryne Anne Fisher to be my lawfully wedded wife."

Phryne squeezed his fingers, unable now to stop smiling. "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Phryne Anne Fisher, do take thee, John Harold Robinson, to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"And by the power vested in me by the Kingdom of Great Britain, I now pronounce you man and wife." The Chaplain paused for a moment to let this sink in before continuing, "the couple will now exchange rings as a symbol of their marriage."

Jack drew Phryne's ring from his pocket and, taking her left hand in his, slid it carefully onto her finger. "I give you this ring as a token of our love and marriage, as a symbol of all that we share, and in recognition of our life together."

Phryne's dress had no pockets, so he retrieved his own ring from his other pocket and passed it to her, holding out his left hand and feeling the metal, cool and unfamiliar, slide into place as she repeated the words that the chaplain had suggested. "I give you this ring as a token of our love and marriage, as a symbol of all that we share, and in recognition of our life together."

Reverend Walters gestured to the table beside him, where the marriage documents were laid out. "I now invite our witnesses to come forward, and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson to sign the register."

Robert Slade and Mr. Holdaway stepped forward, and in a moment it was done: five signatures affixed in the requisite places, and the witnesses returning to their seats. Walters gestured for them to turn and face their guests, and they did so, Jack offering Phryne his arm with still another smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. Congratulations!"

The quartet struck up again as they moved out onto the deck, where the rest of the first class passengers, with the exception of the 'Queen of Sheba', had been invited to join them for a champagne breakfast, dancing and cake.

* * *

 _The wedding ceremony: is a full, legal registry service, as near as I can ascertain based on the information I could google. If you're interested in knowing more, I recommend the Debrett's website._


	5. Chapter 5

_So, this chapter got kind of dark. I blame it on the fact that I wrote it while watching the BBC's 'Sherlock: The Abominable Bride'_

* * *

"Do you mind that it was a registry wedding?" Jack asked as they leaned together against the railings a few hours later. They had laughed and danced at their party, but it hadn't been long before they had slipped away, wanting some peace and quiet in which to let the reality of their new marital status sink in.

"Of course not," Phryne replied, giving his arm a squeeze. "Oh, Jack," she stared out at the sea. "Sometimes it feels as though my whole life is one big show: people endlessly watching me. And it can be fun, being the centre of everyone's attention, being able to command a crowd with a few words, but our best times together have always been when it was just the two of us." She sighed. "And I'm not a religious woman, and I haven't lived the kind of life that a religious woman lives. To have walked down the aisle in a long white dress and stood before a God who, let's face it, I've mostly ignored for most of my life... I'm not a religious woman, but I would hope I'm not a hypocrite." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Today was perfect. Please don't ever think it was anything else. And," in a moment she changed, as she so often did, from serious to gay, "how many people can actually say that they were married at sea? That's going to be quite a story to tell back home." She paused. "Do you regret it, Jack?"

He considered for a moment. "I regret that we didn't have a choice. I regret that my marriage to Rosie is a stain on my past – our past – that will likely never go away, especially because it doesn't really feel fair to her. She never meant for our marriage to fail, any more than I did. But when it did... I regret that society considers that mistake something to punish us – and you – for, for the rest of our lives." He turned to look at her. "But our marriage isn't second best to me, Phryne, or second-rate. I meant every word I said in there today, and I would have meant every word of a religious ceremony, as well. I love you, Phryne Fisher, with all my heart."

She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him fiercely. "That's Phryne Robinson to you," she corrected, and he chuckled softly into her hair.

"Of course. My mistake. Well, Phryne Robinson, would you consider giving your husband a kiss?"

She leaned back, glad to see him smiling again. "Oh, I think I could just about manage that."

...

Sofia Arnay sat very straight in her cabin and listened to the sounds of celebration outside. It was unfair! It was so unfair! How dare those wretched Antipodean lovebirds ruin the life that she had spent a lifetime creating? From her earliest years she had worked long and hard to convince others that she was more, better, than the miserable peasant she had been born in an obscure Hungarian village. In school, little Elena had had the other children thoroughly convinced that she was really the daughter of a Count, cruelly disowned when his second wife demanded that her step-daughter be removed forever from her sight.

Then in Germany before the War she had made a name for herself on the stage as the actress Ilse Preiss, able to step at will into any role, unfazed by the different languages that she learned with ease. And the War had not been a total disaster for an enterprising young woman, and by the end of it, with a cheap ring, a flawless accent and a forged certificate, she had escaped the shattered ruins of the Continent to become the young English war widow Mrs. Emily Rose, complete with a widow's pension, which she continued to draw even after she moved from the dreary English north to the bright lights of London and became the socialite Amy Abbott. And all along the way there had been men, many men. Young, old, married, single, handsome, ugly, it hadn't mattered to her in the least. All that had mattered had been that they had the money to shower her with an ever-increasing flow of gifts and luxuries. Damn that Fisher woman, what the hell did she know? Of course a man who gave you gifts was compensating for something, but what did it matter just as long as the gifts kept coming?

And then, finally, she had adopted the identity she had always craved: that of a Hungarian aristocrat. It had been surprisingly easy. She had crossed the Channel to Paris and become just one in a sea of émigrés from every nation in Europe and beyond, all of them with pasts that were hinted at but never fully disclosed.

Until one day her path had crossed with that of one of her old lovers, once a German army captain, now a man of industry, and the bastard had been foolish enough to start talking. Not that he had accused her directly, oh, no, but he had started rumours, and there were enough shadows of not-entire-legality in her past that she had decided that the only way to maintain the identity and lifestyle for which she had schemed for so many years was to sail away until the heat died down.

She should have tried for America, dammit! If she had only done that... if she had only been brave enough to wait just a few days longer, and to ditch each of her previous identities, rather than keeping them tucked away, an open option just in case she ever found herself heading backwards instead of forwards... if only she hadn't decided to chance her luck once again (and why not? Hadn't she always been lucky before?) by doubling her money with a little insurance fraud (and why not? Hadn't it always worked before?)... If only those damned, _damned_ Australians, she with her effortless wealth and jewellery, and him able simply to _marry_ all that money, because a man _could_ marry and not become a slave, but oh no, not she, no, a woman had to make her own way in the world, and a man was nothing more than a gaoler once the shackle of a wedding ring was on a woman's finger (and please, God, let that Fisher woman learn that bitter lesson, and soon); any other ring she would have and have gladly, but not that, oh no, never that...

But they would pay, she had decided, oh yes they would, they would pay for ruining her life and taking all her dreams away.

...

They didn't talk much for the rest of the day. When they had been reunited in London they had spent almost every waking moment when they weren't making love (and some of the time when they were) talking and laughing, flying high on the sheer intoxicating joy of their reunion and the free expression of the feelings they had kept bottled up for so very long. This time it was different. Although their wedding ceremony hadn't been religious it was as though a holy hush had fallen over them, leaving them both slightly awed by the commitment they had made. They strolled along the deck, receiving smiles and congratulations from passengers and crew alike, or sat together in the lounge, smiling silently into one another's eyes for long moments – much to the amusement of everyone else – but they didn't talk much at all.

They had to emerge from their lovestruck daze for supper, but they didn't manage it entirely. The Holdaways exchanged understanding glances, remembering their own newlywed days some thirty years before, while Robert sighed inwardly and thought with longing of his sweetheart back home. After supper, however, they retreated back into their private world, where more could be communicated with a glance or a touch than with words: _'I love you.' 'I love you, too.' 'I'm so happy today.' 'so am I.'... 'Let's go for a walk.' 'Isn't the sunset beautiful tonight?' 'I'm glad you're here to enjoy it with me.'... 'Look at the stars: do you remember the night you told me I wasn't a telescope?' 'I remember I almost kissed you – until you got distracted by a shiny piece of evidence.' 'I'm glad you didn't give up.' 'Me too.' ...'I love you.' 'I love you too.'... 'Do you want to go inside?' 'Not just yet. We have all night – we have the rest of our lives – why rush?' 'There's no need. No need at all.'_

And so they stood together on the deck as the light faded and the stars came out and the other guests headed slowly for a nightcap or their beds until they were alone in the starlight with nothing but the swish of the waves and the low throb of the engines for company.

...

It was late. It was dark, and after listening for a very long time at the door Sofia was confident that her guard was, if not asleep, then at least drowsing. She had paid close attention every time she heard movement in the neighbouring cabin since she had been imprisoned, and was fairly certain that although the door had been locked no-one had thought to draw the bolt. At any rate, it was worth a try. There was nowhere to escape to on a boat, but once she was ashore in Ceylon any chance at revenge would swiftly sail away, and at this point it was revenge that she craved far more than freedom.

Carefully – those fools had been searching for jewellery, not lockpicking equipment – she crouched before the door leading into the Messingers' cabin and applied herself to the lock with a hairpin. In only a few moments she heard the tell-tale click and, rising, waited with bated breath for a moment more until she was certain that her neighbours would have settled back into sleep. Carefully she turned the knob and eased the door open. With the silent ease of one long practised in stealthy movement under cover of darkness she glided across the room to the door leading onto the deck. Opening it, she stepped out confidently, keeping her face averted from the guard but moving as though she had a perfect right to be there. She and Mrs. Messinger were a similar height: in the darkness, that would be enough.

She made her way to their cabins first, but they weren't there, so she began to search slowly along the deck. It was only when she spotted them standing together by the railing that she realised that she had forgotten to procure a weapon. Still, she reflected, as she crept closer, she was nothing if not flexible. Perhaps she could throw the Inspector overboard and then throttle his new bride before she could cry out. They would both die slow deaths, and if she was lucky she could throw Mrs. Robinson's body overboard as well and creep back to her cabin before anyone realised she was gone.

Unfortunately, just as she was about to rush forward and put her plan into action the two turned away and moved closer to the cabin wall – too far from the side, now, for her to throw either one over. They were headed back to their cabins, and as she followed along behind she saw the moonlight shine off the necklace Mrs. Robinson was wearing. Well, she thought, how poetic would it be to throttle her with her own pearls as her husband looked on, just as she had once hinted she would like to do to Sofia?

...

Phryne was unlocking the door to her cabin, Jack waiting just a hairsbreadth from her side, when there was a sudden clatter of feet across the deck and she felt a sudden pain in her neck as she was jerked backward, off balance but held up by hands lent strength by vengeful madness.

"Phryne!"

"You hold your tongue, _Inspector_. Your wife's dead, and you can't stop me!" Both hands locked in the necklace, the Countess began to drag Phryne determinedly backwards, towards the railing and the long, dark drop to the sea below.

Phryne choked, scrabbling desperately with her fingers to loosen the merciless strand of pearl-covered wire that was cutting off her breath, and with her feet for purchase on the deck to resist the backward motion. She clawed at her assailant's hands and arms, but in her madness the woman seemed oblivious to the pain.

"Don't be a fool!" Jack's voice was low with fury and desperation. "You're nowhere to run, Countess, and we've no evidence of anything against you worth hanging you for. Let her go now, and that doesn't have to change."

Sofia laughed manically. "Do you think that's what matters to me, now? You've destroyed my life, the two of you, and now I'm going to destroy yours. Shout for help, Inspector, and I'll break her neck."

Jack wasn't certain whether the Countess could do that, whether she knew how, or whether in her current position she would have the correct angle and leverage, but he wasn't about to risk finding out. Phryne's movements were becoming jerky, desperate, as her body starved for oxygen, and he knew he had to do something, anything, to give her a chance. He caught his wife's frantic gaze and gave her a miniscule nod. The Countess didn't notice, but they had been communicating in such gestures all day and their fluency was at its peak. He could see in Phryne's eyes that she understood: he was about to try something, and when he did she would need to make her move. He forced his gaze away from Phryne suddenly, looking over Sofia's shoulder, eyes wide and lips parted as though to speak to someone coming along the deck behind her.

It worked. Alarmed, the woman stopped and glanced backward, loosening her grip on Phryne's necklace just the tiniest bit as she did so. Taking advantage, Phryne reached suddenly behind her and grasped her assailant's wrists firmly, dropping inelegantly to her bottom and leaning forward, dragging the woman off-balance over her back and forcing her to loose her hold on the necklace. Gratefully, she dragged the sweet sea air deep into her lungs. In an instant Jack was upon them, his grip augmenting Phryne's, dragging the Hungarian roughly away and all but flinging her against the wall. He had never, ever hit a woman, but now he clasped her wrists behind her in a vice-like grip, too angry to speak. Beside him, the door to the neighbouring cabin opened and the American movie director stuck his head out.

"Care to keep it-" He broke off as he realised the seriousness of the situation.

"What's going on out there, Ernie?" the actress called.

"You'd better ring for the steward, sweetheart, and get him to sort it out." He left the cabin and stepped towards Phryne who was still sitting on the deck, struggling to get her breath back. Stooping slightly, he offered her his hand. "You alright down there?"

Phryne gave him an eloquent look, but accepted his assistance gratefully.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack awoke first the following morning, to the welcome sight of Phryne lying spooned against him. The bruising would be terrible, the ship's doctor had explained, and her voice would likely be hoarse for a few days, but she would suffer no lasting harm. Jack had held her hand tightly while she was examined and while, having dragged a screeching Miss Arnay away to the security of the ship's brig, Master Rudd had taken her husky statement. Now he leaned over her, running his eyes along her sleeping form. It had not been the wedding night either of them had expected. But still...

But still, as he gazed at her, he could see her left hand resting on the pillow, and her wedding ring gleaming on her finger. He laid a tender kiss on her shoulder, then shifted his arm, laying his left hand over hers so that his ring was touching its mate. The sensation of wearing it was still unfamiliar to him, but after coming so close to losing her the sense of having something which connected him to her, even when they were apart, was more precious than ever. The words she had whispered in his ear as she held him close the night before - "There have been so many men in my life, Jack. But you - you are the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with" - came back to him, and he smiled. God willing, that would be many, many years yet.

She stirred in his embrace, frowning as the pain in her throat and around her neck registered, and making a soft noise of discomfort.

Jack kissed her shoulder again. "Wake up, Mrs. Robinson," he whispered softly. "Your husband wants to kiss you."

That made her smile sleepily as she rolled over onto her back. "I never promised to obey you," she reminded him, frowning again at the harsh sound of her voice.

He pouted, as she so often did when she wanted something from him. "But I really, really want a kiss," he mock-begged, and she chuckled and gave in.

They broke apart after a moment and she sat up, wincing slightly. "Sorry, Jack, but I really do need a glass of water. Or maybe some tea."

He nodded in understanding. "Of course. I'll ring for the steward."

...

A while later he set his cup aside and turned to her. "Phryne..."

"Hum?" She let him take the empty cup from her fingers, then tilted her head back obligingly as he laid a gentle finger under her chin and lifted it lightly. "How bad does it look?" she asked, wincing again at the odd sound to her voice. The tea had helped, but not enough.

"Bad," he admitted. "And it'll probably look worse before it looks better. You might want to wear a scarf for a few days."

She shuddered slightly at the thought. "I'm not sure I want to feel anything around my neck for a while, love."

He leaned into her, so his breath tickled her skin. "Not even this?" he asked, and laid the first in a series of gentle kisses over her bruises.

She felt the familiar flush of heat through her body and relaxed with a sigh. "Well, maybe that," she admitted with a smile, before giving herself over once again to the delicious sensation of her husband's touch.

...

They docked in Colombo that evening, and were relieved to see a group of officers from the local police force, alerted by Morse from the Europa, waiting on the dock to escort a handcuffed Sofia Arnay away, along with her jewellery and the collection of passports. They bade farewell to young Robert, who was met by a servant from the family mansion, and then, ashore themselves, were driven to the police station to give their statements, before heading to Government House to formally register their marriage. After which Jack could see Phryne was exhausted, so he flagged down a taxi and directed them back to the ship. They could sight-see another day.

And they did, because by the following morning Phryne was more or less recovered and unwilling to pass up the chance for an elephant ride to the nearest ruins, or the opportunity to sample curries at the local market, or shop for curios in the inevitable bazaar. Thus they once again returned to the ship laden with gifts and souvenirs. And while a part of Jack was heartily sick of wasting hours haggling for extraneous possessions another part of him was immeasurably grateful to see his wife restored to her usual spirits, even if her sweet voice was still decidedly roughened and she was – to her frustration – able to speak rather less than she was accustomed to.

It was a relief to both of them when, four days later, the Europa set sail and they could watch the coast of Ceylon recede behind them.

...

Champagne corks popped and the band played as King Neptune demanded a kiss as tribute from every woman in first class, his mermaids collecting a similar prize from the men. Jack pecked two maids in fancy dress awkwardly on the cheek, while Phryne gave the trident-wielding, fake-bearded chief steward a sultry look and then, at the last moment, tugged his wig down playfully over his eyes before pushing him slightly away. Then the mermaids draped long ropes of fake pearls around everyone's necks as a keepsake to mark their crossing of the equator. Phryne squeezed Jack's hand when it was her turn but gave no other sign of discomfort, although the bruises around her neck had now spread and turned an ugly green-yellow and, as she had predicted, she was still reluctant to wear anything that fitted too closely over them.

They were dancing together when Jack felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a slow dance and he was rather enjoying holding Phryne close, so he initially ignored it, but the grip tightened and he turned, annoyed, to see one of a pair of American gentlemen who had joined the ship in Colombo standing behind him.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Phryne tightened her grip on Jack and glared daggers at the interloper, so he knew she wasn't in favour of the idea.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He began to turn back to Phryne, but the American pulled him back.

"Say now, that ain't the way it goes."

"Isn't," Jack corrected, acidly. "And as a matter of fact, that is exactly the way it goes. I'm dancing with my wife, and I have no intention of allowing you to cut in."

Phryne smiled up at him, pleased. Since they had boarded the Europa in Ceylon, Harvey Price and Marion Nash had succeeded in offending almost everyone in first class, including Phryne, who was not easily offended by unconventional behaviour. It was not that they were intentionally rude, but rather that they seemed to be possessed of a relentless bonhomie and insatiable desire to befriend as many of their shipmates as possible, regardless of whether their shipmates were particularly interested in establishing a friendship or not. And they seemed to have an unerring instinct for the times when Phryne and Jack were sharing a moment of particular intimacy, and just when they most did not want to be disturbed they would hear an enthusiastic American "well, hey there!" and one or both of the men would come bumbling in like overenthusiastic puppies wanting to play. It was enough to drive any newly-wedded couple to distraction.

Now Price was attempting to cut in on their dance, a practise which may have been common in the States but which most certainly was not common in either England or Australia - or on board a ship sailing between the two.

Price sighed, as though he were the one dealing with an oaf and not the other way around. "I don't know what's wrong with you Brits that you won't share your dames."

"First of all," Phryne began, "we're Australian, not British, and secondly I'm his wife, not a box of chocolates to be passed around." She settled herself back into Jack's arms. "Now go away; we're busy."

"I'd like to apologise," Ernie Wolfe said gallantly when she danced with him a little later on, "for the poor manners of my countrymen."

"It's quite alright," Phryne assured him. "I would never judge an entire nationality by a single poor example."

Wolfe glanced across at Jack, who was keeping an eye on them over the head of his own current partner. "I'm not sure your husband feels the same way."

Phryne smiled affectionately. "My husband has a much stronger sense of propriety than I do."

"He's the jealous type?"

She thought about this for a moment. "Actually, no," she remarked, almost surprised. "Not anymore."

...

Two days later, Jack was strolling along the promenade deck when he noticed a dark line on the horizon. Narrowing his eyes, he stared intensely at it. How long had it been, he wondered, since they had left Ceylon? He watched for a while longer, as the line resolved itself slowly into a distant, but nearing, landmass.

"Excuse me!" he asked a sailor who happened to be passing by.

"Yes sir?"

"Over there," he pointed with mounting hope. "Is that Australia?"

The sailor, who had made this trip many times before, heard the excited note in the gentleman's voice and smiled. "It certainly is, sir. We should reach Freemantle tomorrow or the next day."

Jack, as Phryne had noted, had a strong sense of propriety. In particular, he did not run or shout in public except in dire emergency. But now he took off at a run towards the sundeck.

"Phryne!" he called as he rounded the corner.

"Jack?" Phryne laid down the book she was reading and regarded her husband over the top of her sunglasses. "Is everything alright?"

He ran to her side, grinning like an idiot, and grabbed her hands. "Come with me," he urged. "Come, Phryne, come and see."

"Just a minute," she laughed. "Let me slip my shoes back on."

Jack jiggled impatiently from one foot to the other while she replaced her shoes on her feet, then offered his hand to draw her up and led her at a near run back to the railing.

"Look." He stopped and pointed, standing behind her with one arm about her waist. "Look, Phryne, what do you see?"

"Is that..." she peered out across the water, then broke into a grin, turning to meet his excited gaze with her own. "Jack, is that Australia?"

He nodded, and she flung her arms around his neck, crowing with laughter. "Home, Jack. We're almost home!"

She had flown across the world, and he had sailed after her. They had solved a murder, and a robbery, and somehow still found time to become man and wife. And now, after almost a year, at long last, they were coming home.


End file.
